


If You Can't Hear Me, Just Walk Away

by queenbaskerville



Series: Drinking by the Mausoleum Door [3]
Category: The Umbrella Academy (TV)
Genre: Depression, Gen, No Apocalypse, No Incest, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, References to Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Therapy, everyone in this family needs therapy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-18
Updated: 2019-04-18
Packaged: 2020-01-15 19:29:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18505549
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/queenbaskerville/pseuds/queenbaskerville
Summary: Klaus's eyes zero in on the Veterans Crisis Line phone number. "Assists Veterans in crisis, even if not registered with the US Department of Veteran Affairs. 24/7. Call/text/chat. 1-800-273-8255 (press 1)."Klaus needs to make a phone call or two. Or four. Or every time he has a flashback, every time he's on the edge and doesn't want Ben to feel like he has to talk him down. The only problem is that he doesn't have a phone.Allison does.





	If You Can't Hear Me, Just Walk Away

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger warning for implied suicidal thoughts, suicidal ideation, & mentions of exchanging sex work for drugs.
> 
> This fic takes place in a universe in which the family averts the apocalypse and doesn't travel back in time to their teen selves. Standard sort of thing where they don't lock Vanya in the basement and she's learning to control her powers, etc. etc. Starts shortly after the day the world was meant to end but didn't.
> 
> Fic title from ["The End."](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XkCA2XqUJ4o) by MCR
> 
> As always, I'm open to constructive criticism & feedback. Hope you enjoy!

Klaus finds Vanya's poetry notebook on accident. Well, not "finds." More like, "picks up." Vanya has fallen asleep at the kitchen table instead of being a sensible, responsible adult and going to her apartment to sleep, but who is Klaus to judge? He hasn't slept in two days.

Klaus doesn't read it, because he's not an asshole, but he spends an uncertain amount of time running his hands over the cover and down the spiral-ring "spine." He doesn't know it's a poetry notebook, yet, so he wonders what's in it. Ideas for another memoir? _How My Funky, Fucked-Up Family Survived the Apocalypse_ by Vanya Hargreeves. Klaus can see it now.

Maybe the journal is full of recipes, he muses. Or musical scales. Does Vanya compose as well as play? Or maybe it's sketches. She could easily be a secret artist. Klaus would never know.

Normally, he'd be bouncing these theories off Ben, but Ben is enjoying his corporeal form and has been in the library reading books for two days. Klaus would very much like to sleep, but he knows that if he stops focusing his energy on making Ben corporeal, the books and their fascinating pages will fall right through Ben's hands, so Klaus stays awake. He's had a few too many Monsters and feels like he's vibrating out of his skin. Ben would probably tell him that it's okay to go to bed, that he's not treating his body right, disrespecting the living temple-- or, maybe that's Diego. Diego's the one whose body is a temple. Ben would just very much like to have a body, and so he gets mad when Klaus pours garbage into his.

Which is why Klaus is spending his energy giving Ben a body! Ben should be grateful. Probably will stay grateful up until he realizes how much time has passed since he initially sat down to read. Or until Klaus passes out, whichever comes first. But so far, so good. Klaus's eyelids are heavy, his hands are shaking, and he can't keep his eyes focused on anything for too long, but that's not really too out of the ordinary for Klaus. And maybe he's being a little bit selfish. He's tired of dreaming about Vietnam, about Dave bleeding to death in his arms and burying his face in the dirt during a bombing.

Vanya startles awake. She raises her head quickly from the table, looking around wide-eyed, and Klaus gives her a small wave with his "Hello" hand.

"You're in the kitchen," he says. "It's three in the morning on," he pauses, "I don't know what day it is, actually."

Vanya stares at him. He swings his legs, his heels knocking lightly against the kitchen cabinets.

"Is that my journal?" she asks.

"I didn't read it. Swear. Just like the way the cover feels." Klaus presses it to his cheek, his silliness half-acting and half-exhausted-delirium. "So smooth!"

"Give it back," Vanya says. "Please."

He puts the thing in her outstretched hand. She pulls it to her chest like he'd stolen her baby. It's the way he'd act if someone tried to steal a heroin balloon from him.

"So, what's in there?" he asks, because he needs some sort of stimulation or he might fall asleep where he's sitting. "Art? Recipes? Lewd literature? It's rude not to share."

"It's just poems," she mutters, avoiding eye contact. "Just dumb poems."

"I'm sure they're not dumb, if they're as good as your music," Klaus says, because it's true, and because he's trying to do this new affirmation thing. They all are, to remind her that they actually like her, that she belongs. It's something Allison emphasizes while Vanya's training a lot, too. _You're doing great, Vanya,_ Allison will say. Diego usually says, _Luther, stop being an asshole like Dad,_ instead of addressing Vanya directly, but it's a start. Five isn't big on affirmations, but he started bringing her glasses of water and peanut butter and marshmallow sandwiches, which is Five's way of nonverbal affirmation, probably. Either that, or he's like that old lady witch in the Hansel and Gretel story, giving Vanya his favorite snack because he's planning on cooking and eating her later.

"I'm just writing them because my therapist said it was a good idea."

Klaus vaguely remembers Vanya mentioning starting therapy in her memoir, but he'd read it in rehab, so maybe he's misremembering and she'd mentioned it another time.

"How's that going?" he asks.

"The poetry?"

"I was going to say therapy, but, honestly, either one." _Just talk to me. I'm gonna pass out._

"I stopped going to my therapist for a while," Vanya admits. "But after all this, I went back. And I think it's going better. I feel like this huge mental wall is coming down. It's probably because I'm weaning myself off of Dad's weird meds, but maybe it's also a little bit because I'm actually trying again."

"No reason why it can't be both!" Klaus says, and he starts applauding. "Yay Vanya!"

Vanya smiles a little bit. "Thanks. And, well. The poetry—"

She probably keeps talking, but Klaus doesn't hear because he passes out.

 

* * *

 

 

A few days later, Klaus comes downstairs and Vanya is curled up on the couch, writing in her little notebook.

"My dear sister!" Klaus says.

Vanya startles, but when she turns her head to look at him, she gives him a small smile. "Hey, Klaus. How's your head?"

"Addled as ever." Klaus taps the bruise on his forehead from slamming his head into the floor when he fainted in the kitchen, and then he drops his voice into a stage-whisper. "How's the poetry?"

Vanya gestures for him to come over, and he does. She hands him the notebook and then hides her head in her hands while he reads it.

"This is good," Klaus says. 

"Don't lie," says Vanya, and she snatches the notebook out of his hands. 

"No, I mean it. I like it. It's got some good, uh. Alliteration. Isn't that what it's called?"

"It's assonance. But thank you."

"You should send this somewhere," Klaus says. "You have a computer? Come on, let's look for magazines. Publications, journals, whatever. I want to see my baby sister's work on the metaphorical big screen!"

It takes some persuading—a _lot_ of persuading—but, eventually, Klaus ends up curled up next to Vanya on the couch while she scrolls through Submittable on her laptop. She hasn't typed up any of her poems, so they're just looking at different journals and contests and clicking the "Save for Later" button, but it's a good start. 

"That one has a pretty logo," Klaus says, pointing at the screen.

"It's a literary arts magazine that focuses on mental health," Vanya says.

"You're writing poems because your therapist told you to. This is the most mental health it gets!"

Klaus whines and cajoles until she clicks on the link to the magazine's website. She scrolls through their submission requirements page, their previous publications (the tab humorously labeled "We've Got Issues"), and their resources page, and it's this last thing that catches Klaus off guard. His eyes zero in on the Veterans Crisis Line phone number. Its description reads, "Assists Veterans in crisis, even if not registered with the US Department of Veteran Affairs. 24/7. Call/text/chat. 1-800-273-8255 (press 1)."

"That phone number is a song title," Ben says, and Klaus nearly falls off the couch.

"What? What is it?" Vanya says.

"It's just Ben trying to give me a heart attack," Klaus says, putting a hand to his chest dramatically, but his wide-eyed stare at Ben is genuine. "Don't sneak up on me, man. I thought you were hanging out upstairs."

"My book fell through my hands and I was worried you'd passed out again," Ben says. "I promise, you can just tell me when you're tired. I won't be upset. Anyway, you don't have to frantically commit that phone number to memory, or anything. It's a song title. 1-800-273-8255," Ben recites. 

"How would you know that?"

"One of the guys you lived with a few years ago played that song a lot," Ben says. "It got kind of annoying, after a while."

"Lived with" is probably a euphemism. Klaus doesn't remember, but he's sure that the guy was just a man who Klaus was sleeping with in order to have somewhere to sleep. Probably some drug dealer, actually. That was the trend for a little while.

"Go back upstairs and you can read some more," Klaus says, and he waves his "Goodbye" hand, turning Ben corporeal again.

Vanya startles. "Hi, Ben."

"Hi, Vanya," Ben says, and he smiles gently. "What's up?"

"We're just looking at poem stuff," Vanya says. "I've been writing a little bit. Just trying it out, nothing serious."

"I believe in you," Ben says, and then he heads back upstairs.

Klaus nestles in back next to Vanya, pulling the green blanket up under his chin, while Vanya clicks away from the website and scrolls through some other journals. He rubs at the tattoo on his left shoulder. _Crisis line,_ he thinks to himself. _Crisis line_.

Klaus doesn't own a cellphone.

 

* * *

 

 

The first time Klaus asks to borrow Allison's phone, she almost flat-out says no. Allison assumes that Klaus pawned his phone for drug money years ago, or that it was confiscated during one of his stints at rehab and he never got it back. Maybe it was confiscated during one of his arrests. She would never admit this to him, but the only reason she knows that he's been to prison is because some fan of hers had updated her Wikipedia page a few years ago to say, under the "Personal Life" header, "One of her brothers is incarcerated," and one of her social media managers noticed. It has been updated since then, and it now reads, "One of her brothers was incarcerated twice."

So, when he asks for her phone, she assumes that he's going to "borrow" it—meaning, take it and sell it for drug money—or to use it to call some dealer. He's sober right now, she thinks, but she knows quitting isn't easy. 

"I promise I'll give it back," Klaus says, and maybe it's a lie, but he's not—he's not looking so good. Something is off, behind his eyes. She's a little bit afraid that if she doesn't give him the phone, so he can trade it for drugs, that he'll go out and trade his body for drugs, instead. She's not naive. She's sure it wouldn't be the first time. But it's not what she wants for him. It's definitely less safe than pawning the phone would be. So, maybe she's an enabler when she hands him her phone, believing with her whole heart that she'll have to put in an order for a new one, but she doesn't want her brother to have to go through any more sexual trauma than he likely already has. Plus, she's rich, so getting another phone doesn't matter. The important people in her house are the people she lives with, so she can just tell them she lost her phone, and the important people in her life back in California all have each other's phone numbers—her agent, her lawyers, her publicists, her social media managers, her ex-husband. She won't be out of touch with them for long.

She's half right. She isn't out of touch with them for long.

What she's wrong about is this: Klaus gives her the phone back. He knocks on her bedroom door again a few hours later and, when she opens the door, gives her a small wave with his "Hello" hand. 

"Thanks," he says, and he hands it to her. She can read the "Goodbye" on his hand once she's taken the phone and his palm is empty.

"No problem," she says. She's so surprised that she actually gave it back that she doesn't even think to check the call history; she puts it in her pocket and goes back to her reading.

Klaus asks for it a few more times during the last two weeks she stays at the Academy before her flight back to L.A. She's got a career, after all, and a daughter she'd like to see again someday. She can't stay at the Academy forever.

He'll knock on the door at an odd hour, sometimes waking her up, and then he'll ask for the phone, disappear into his room for a few hours, and then bring it back. She has to wake up at his knock when he comes to return it, because the one time she'd ignored him and gone back to sleep, she'd woken the next morning to find him sleeping outside her bedroom door, the cellphone clutched in his hand. She worries he's going to get a crick in his neck, curled up like that.

It's not until the third time he uses her cellphone that she gets curious and checks her call history. She doesn't recognize the number, but the fact that it's a 1-800 and not a local area code is a bit of a relief. Not a drug dealer, then.

The fourth time, she actually Google searches the phone number. 1-800-273-8255.

_You're not alone. Confidential help is available for free. National Suicide Prevention Lifeline._

Allison sits down heavily. She practically collapses into her desk chair. 

It shocks her. It shouldn't—she knows, objectively, that Klaus is an abuse victim (they all are) who sees ghosts and does drugs. He's surrounded by death and is rarely in a stable mental state. It shouldn't be a surprise that his trauma bubbles up in suicidal thoughts. But there's a difference between knowing in the vaguest sense that that's a possibility and having real, visual evidence that her brother was on the phone with the suicide prevention people a few minutes ago. 

For a little while longer, she just sits there at her desk, staring into the mirror. She's not sure, at first, why Klaus asked her for her phone. She wonders if he's crying out to her for help in the only way he knows how. But why her? Allison and Klaus were only ever close when it came down to femininity—clothes, makeup, and some of the movies they'd sneak out to watch together. Klaus was always closest with—well, Ben, but Ben's dead; he doesn't have a phone. Then Diego would be next, Allison guesses, but she can't imagine Diego giving Klaus his phone without an explanation, and she can't imagine Klaus explaining. Then Vanya? Diego and Vanya both live elsewhere, splitting their time between their places and the Academy. They wouldn't be as reliable for a cellphone at odd hours as Allison is. The most reliable would be Five or Luther, and Five doesn't have a phone, and Luther—the same thing as Diego, really. Luther wouldn't give up his phone without an explanation. And if Klaus isn't likely to tell Diego, then he definitely wouldn't tell Luther. Luther is the sibling that Allison has always been closest to, but Allison isn't oblivious. She knows exactly how much Luther trusts Klaus, and it's not as far as he could throw him. Luther could throw Klaus pretty far. She imagines Klaus's dislike of Luther is similar. 

What does Klaus do during the day when Allison goes out for coffee or goes to the park or to the library? What will he do when she flies back to L.A.?

 

Allison feels a pang in her chest. She needs to know where Klaus is.

In his room, probably. But she needs to see him. She needs to know he's okay.

Allison finds herself standing outside Klaus’s bedroom door. She can hear some sort of older song playing on his record player. It's upbeat-ish, but the lyrics are a bit sad. She doesn’t like it.

She has to knock twice before Klaus opens the door. His eyes are red-rimmed.

“What’s up?”

Allison realizes she hasn’t prepped an excuse for coming to his room. _I was worried you were going to kill yourself_ is too awkward to say out loud.

“I wanted to tell you I’m moving back to L.A. soon,” she says. 

“Oh,” says Klaus. Then, with a smile, “How thrilling! All the glam! I can’t wait to see your next blockbuster hit.”

Allison blinks. “You watch my movies?”

“Me and Ben always sneak into the theater together,” Klaus stage-whispers, like he's sharing a funny secret. “You remember the theater we used to sneak into as kids?”

“The one in that sketchy neighborhood? With the emergency exits that didn’t actually sound a siren? We used to walk so far.”

“Yeah, well, I lived in that sketchy neighborhood for a while,” Klaus says. He’s still smiling, but it doesn’t feel as real. “Not as far of a walk for me and Ben.”

Allison tries to peek past him through the doorway. “Is Ben here right now?”

“No, he’s in the library. I tore up a book and hung up all the pages on strings.” Klaus pinches the air, miming pulling a string taut. “He was pissed at first, but it lets him read while I can have a break, and it was a book we own a few copies of anyway.”

“Come with me to L.A.,” Allison blurts out.

“I—what?”

“I’ll get another ticket,” Allison says. She can see it clearer in her minds eye the more she thinks about it. “You can stay with me, get out of this damn house. There’s so much here. So many bad memories. It’s spacious; it would be like having your own place without rent. And I know how hard you’re working to stay drug-free.” She almost says _stay clean,_ but she doesn’t want to imply that he’s dirty. She starts speaking more quickly. He’s got an open look on his face she wants to keep there. “We can go to movie premieres together. I just know you’re dying to get your hands on my designers.” Allison imagines Klaus on her arm, the both of them in gowns. Hollywood would just eat him up, if he could get sober. He’d be eccentric, not crazy. Rich and eccentric and happy.

For a moment, it looks like Klaus is going to say yes. 

“Having a drug addict in your home isn’t going to help you get Claire back,” he says gently. “Recovering or not, I’ll tank your chances in court.”

Claire. 

There’s a lump in Allison’s throat that she struggles to swallow. 

"Let me get you a therapist, at least," she says. "My therapist already knows about the completely nonsensical bullshit that is Umbrella Academy. She can find another one who's on board with it."

"I can't afford that."

"I'll pay for it."

"I won't go," Klaus says. "Even if you pay for it, I won't go. What're they gonna do, anyway? Tell me to eat better, sleep better? 'Avoid your druggie haunts, Klaus! Stop having war flashbacks, Klaus! Stop being weak, Four!'"

Klaus is shouting by the end of it. He doesn't seem to realize entirely what he's said. God, their family is fucked up.

"It's not like that," Allison says. "Just think of it this way. A therapist is like a support system, a diary, and a common sense filter all in one."

"I've got Ben for that," says Klaus.

"You can share the weight with somebody who doesn't have a personal stake in things, who won't judge you. It'll be like calling the crisis line, but you can go see somebody in person regularly."

There's a long pause. Allison wonders if mentioning the crisis line was the wrong thing to say.

Klaus breaks eye contact with her. "How far away would it be? I can't drive."

"We'll work something out. I can pay a taxi ahead of time to pick you up, like on a schedule. Maybe somebody could even come here, on bad days—an in-house visiting therapist. Appointment based, not somebody hovering over your shoulder."

"Ben takes offense to that."

Allison can't see Ben, but she doesn't want to risk it. "I'm sorry, Ben."

Klaus's shoulders sag. "No, don't apologize. I'm being a dick. Ben's not here. But—okay. Okay."

"Okay, you'll try it out?"

"Yeah," Klaus says. "Yeah, I'll try it." He fidgets, but he seems like he's wrestling something, so she waits. "I, um. Can you tell—can you tell your therapist to tell _my_ therapist that, um. There was—there was this briefcase—" Klaus rubs his left shoulder.

"You don't have to tell me," Allison says. "I'll just let my therapist know, so she can tell the one we find for you, that there'll be some unusual stuff that you're going to talk about. Is that okay?"

"Yeah."

"Can I tell Ben? I think you should have an accountability partner."

Klaus laughs. "Yeah, okay."

Allison can't think of anything else to say. She turns to go, but—that sad song he was playing—

“Want some song recommendations?" Allison says. She tries desperately to think of something happier. "‘Here Comes the Sun’ is a good one." She hums a few lines. 

Klaus looks pained for a second, but then it subsides.

“I like the one, you know, ‘The love you take...’” Klaus trails off. “I don’t remember the rest of the words.”

Allison thinks she recognizes it. “You know, I think Luther has _Abbey Road_ on vinyl somewhere in his room. I could get it for you. Or you could snatch it.” She smiles. “Might be more fun that way.”

“What year is it from?”

“What?”

“The album.”

Allison takes a second. “Uh— ‘69, I think.”

Klaus shakes his head. “Wrong year.”

Allison frowns. "No, I'm pretty sure I'm right."

"I believe you. I just mean it's not the year I want."

"What year do you want?"

"'68," he says.

She waits for an explanation, but he doesn't give it.

**Author's Note:**

> The literary arts magazine whose page this fic is inspired by is [semicolon](https://www.semicolonlit.org/submit), if you were curious.  
> The song Klaus is listening to is ["Love is Blue"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WYiftjqn4kE) (1968)  
> The song Allison suggests is ["Here Comes the Sun"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xUNqsfFUwhY) (1969)  
> The song Klaus counters with is ["The End"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=12R4FzIhdoQ) (1969)
> 
> Practice self care, y'all!


End file.
